Lupwa's Story
by Laura Patricia
Summary: A young haremaid is forced to watch her entire family slaughtered, eleven seasons later she's out for revenge. Typical Redwall stuff. Forgive my molespeak Chapters 1 to 5 updated, chapter 6 new.
1. My Memory

**Chapter One**

Memory is a strange thing. The earliest memory I have, I must have been about three seasons old, is of my grandfather teaching me to play a paw clapping game at the fireside in our family den. I also remember, in about the same year, my mother scolding me for climbing rocks and letting me eat the apple peel when she baked a pie, and my sister knitting me a green jumper with brown trim. None of these memories are really related in any way, except that they are the only real memories I have of my family.

I can remember their names and details, of course, and what they smelled like; Grandfather smelt of tobacco, Mother of spices and my brothers of sawdust from their workshop. I can remember that we were happy, a tight extended family unit and that we loved each other.

When I try to recall their faces though, it's as if someone has drawn a gossamer curtain around my brain. I can vaguely recall their facial features, but they start to get smudged around the edges or mixed up with other beasts'. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get a clear image. I know what they looked like, I just can't see them in my mind. But I remember them.

The only other recollection I have involving my family is one that is branded on my memory forevermore. I remember the day they died.

It was the day before my sister's wedding, and I was five seasons old. We were preparing food outside, Mother and I; it was too hot and crowded in the kitchen. We were baking strawberry flans for the feast, that is to say Mother was baking strawberry flans and I was being a nuisance by eating all the best berries before she got to them. I sat on the tabletop, watching her trim pastry and stealing pawfuls of honey when she wasn't looking. Occasionally I would swat away an interested looking bee with my 'borrowed' wooden spoon, but otherwise I wasn't being much help.

I was the youngest in the family and so entitled to be a pest. Everyone else was away from home collecting things or in the kitchen of the den; helping prepare for the big day. It was my oldest sister Arbara who was getting married, the same one who'd knitted my memory sweater, to a young hare from one of the nearby families. She was sitting outside also, putting the final touches on her trousseau.

I wasn't very graceful when it came to pinching honey. Mother turned from putting away a flan to find me trying to wipe a dollop of the golden substance off my dress with a sticky paw.

"Lupwa!"

I looked up at her with innocence written all over my face. "I soggy mummy, t'was a'naccident!" Did I mention that I was the baby, need I say more?

"You shouldn't have been at the honey in the first place," she sighed, then noticed the depleted pile of strawberries and my juice stained face. "And stop eating the strawberries, or there'll be none left to eat with cream tomorrow!"

I weighed up the pros and cons of strawberries and cream versus strawberries now. I didn't hear him creeping up behind us, didn't see his filthy paw slink over and steal some berries. "But Mummy…they's very nice stwabees!"

"That's right, mumsy, they's is very nice strawberries!"

Startled by the strange voice, I turned around and saw him. I may forget the faces of my family, I may even forget my own face, but there is one visage I will never forget. The face of the Strawberry Eater. He was a big fat weasel, with dirty fur and red berry juice dripping down his chin; he had a horrible yellow grin and smelt of leaf rot.

I hated him instantly.

So I did the only thing that a level-headed beast of my age could; I whacked him on the head with my wooden spoon. "Punnem down, dey'sa our stwabees, not youses, punnem back!" I berated him.

I still have the hairline scar on my arm where he struck at me with his blade. Arbara shrieked. I clutched my arm, but did not scream. Hot tears pricked my eyelids but did not fall. Mother bravely came up behind him and struck him on the head with a pie pan. He dropped like a log.

And it might have all ended there had he not had friends watching from the forest. Unknown to us, they had already killed my father, brothers, cousins and uncles. The women in the kitchen came out, stirred by the yelling. The first few were struck with stones and fell dead to the ground. Soon they were beset by all sides. They hadn't a chance.

Mother did the only thing she could, grabbed my sister and I and shoved us into the relative safety of a nearby hedge while pandemonium ruled around us. The three of us then watched with horror as our entire family was slaughtered. The gang of bandits ate our feast, made use of our den and destroyed the whole place. The weasel that Mother had hit on the head revived and joined in the fun. I watched, my hatred for him growing as he finished off in just a few mouthfuls all the strawberry flans we had so lovingly baked.

By the time night fell, it was very clear to us that help – my father – was not coming. We saw the scouts returning with news of our male relatives, dead, all of them. Mother and Arbara cried silently, but I was young and didn't understand the full implications of what I was hearing.

Eventually we were found. They dragged us from the bush with rough hands; Strawberry Eater recognised me immediately. "Well, lookit here! It's da young missy what tried ter brain me wid her stick. Not so brave now, eh young'un?"

He shoved his dirty face right into mine. I cringed away and tried to hide behind my mother's skirts, but he grabbed my by my collar and hoisted me into the air. I could see a slight bruise on his forehead from where I'd hit him, it made me bold. "Punnem me down, nasty mister fathead!" I protested, wriggling in his grasp.

His friends found that laughable, but I wasn't finished. I'd seem my whole family killed, but to a someone of my young age what counted more was that he'd stolen our food, made me and Mother and Arbara hide in bush all day and that now he was holding me in a most uncomfortable position. I was tired, hungry, and just plain fed up. I had some spirit left, and I unleashed it on him.

"You stoopid weasely, dum head!" I cried and laid about with my spoon, which I had managed to keep hold of. Had I the chance now, I would use something much worse than a little spoon. But it did the damage then, and he dropped me after a few hits like a hot coal. "You little..."

I never found out what a little I was. I hit the ground with a bounce and ran towards what was left of my family. Strawberry Eater Lunged at me, and Arbara very bravely stood in his way. "You keep your hands off my sister!" she defied him. He gave her a whack across the face that sent her sprawling.

With a sob, Mother also stood up and tried to stop them getting to me. She and my sister were grabbed and dragged away. I did what I could to stop them being taken, but managed only a few good spoon-hits before it was taken off me. Strawberry Eater took me in a firm hold as my sister and mother were dragged away.

Oh Arbara, on the eve of your new glorious future, why were so suddenly shoved into the past? Oh Mother, why did I not do better to defend you, you who had always tried to keep me safe?

"This un's mine," said my captor giving me a shake, "But you can do what you want with them two!"

There is no nice way to say to this, so I will just put it bluntly. My mother and sister were tied up, strung up from trees and used for target practice. I tried to look away, but the Strawberry Eater held my head in place so I could not look anywhere else. In my dreams, I can still hear their screams and pleas. I will never forget that sight; it is the one way I can see my mother's face clearly, contorted with pain.

The moles who rescued me later took what arrows they could from the bodies before burial, and I made up the rest of the number - 28 in all - with ones I fletched myself. Those arrows lie in a quiver by my bed, and when that weasel and I next meet, he will look like a hedgehog before I am through.

I have said before I was a determined little thing, and I wasn't lying. They may have taken my spoon away, but I still had teeth, strong hind legs and, now, a burning anger and hatred that needed an outlet. I twisted and writhed in his grasp, soon freeing myself by literally falling out of my dress.

For the second time that day I hit the ground hard, and ran for my life with a speed that would qualify me to be a Salamandastron runner in later life. For now, my mission was freedom; I wasn't thinking of my long gone family, that would come later, nor was I thinking what would happen next. I just ran.

They chased me for a while, then gave up. It was then that practical thought, or as much of it a five-season old has, returned to me. I stopped running and let recent events catch up with me. My whole family was gone, I had no home to go to, I was hungry, I was alone. My world, little and insignificant though it was, had been destroyed in the space of a day. I sat down right where I was and cried as I had never cried before or since.

"Burr aye, whats thattem be oi 'ear?"

I had never met a mole before, and was startled by her sudden appearance. I stopped crying for a second, but my red eyes and hiccups remained. As I choked for breath, she smiled down upon me. "Hullo, missus! What's a little'un loike 'e doin' doawn there on the ground?"

Mummy had said never talk to strangers, but mummy was dead. Besides, the mole looked friendly and smelt of biscuits. I wondered if she had any. "S'cuse me, but do you hav'ny biskies?" I asked. To my young and innocent heart it was an important question, far belying the usual courtesies.

"Boi burlioh! Ah should've known, you hares are always hungerin! Coom with me, an we'll soon 'have ye full up!"


	2. My Childhood

**Chapter Two**

And so it was that I came to live with the mole siblings Mitzi and Eepee. Long story short, they soon put two and two together with my disjointed story over biscuits and the decimated camp that Eepee had passed on his way home. They very nicely offered that I come and stay with them. I had no other options, and the biscuits were nice so I agreed.

Mitzi was a kind soul, really a wonderful beast. She was continually happy and it wasn't uncommon to hear her singing as she went about her work. A neat freak, she cleaned the burrow everyday from top to bottom and she was also a wonderful carer, making sure that everyone had clothes that fit and weren't torn, keeping the place warm and most of all, seeing that we were well fed. Redwall's cuisine may be revered the length and breadth of the land, but I would trade any dish from there for just one of Mitzi's plum cakes, or her turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pies. I suppose being raised by moles helped, but I came to love that recipe as much as any of them.

Her brother, Eepee was a quiet old thing, not given to long conversations. He spent much of his time in private thought, just sitting and staring into space. He also wandered in the forest a lot, always with some purpose such as finding herbs or flowers. However, more often than not he returned with an empty basket, and we knew the real reason for his treks were to find solitary time. When he did speak, he used the minimal amount of words to get his message across, and he never spoke without cause. Younger than Mitzi, he knew his place in the family.

I had nightmares about my family a lot, but Mitzi was very understanding. She helped me settle in and feel at home right from the very start. I'm sure our family den was a lovely place to live, but the mole's underground burrow was very cosy and I soon came to love it there.

I had my own little room – originally a pantry but it had been unused for years – which was cool in the summer and warm in the winter. There was a tiny kitchen which Mitzi practically lived in, turning out delicious food for every meal, and next to that a small but functional living area. The walls were covered in thick oak roots; these were used as shelves and one particular set as stairs. Up the 'stairs' were Mitzi's and Eepee's rooms and the entry hall. The front door of the burrow actually led to this floor, and then you took the steps down to the rest of the house. There was also plenty of space for development.

Coincidentally, two weeks after I arrived, they needed that space. Eepee found another orphaned woodlander while out walking. Patrice the ottermaid was washed up on the beach, with horrible gashes on her shoulders. Eepee, feeling sorry for her, had taken her home with him to see if Mitzi would agree to taking in another helpless soul. She was about my age, and I heard Eepee whisper to his sister that the very same weasels were responsible for her state.

"Well, we've alr'dy taik'n in one orphaned beast, whots another one gonna make ony difference?" Mitzi sighed and went to find more spare blankets for the new member of the family. I think secretly she liked having beasts to care for.

Patrice and I obviously became fast friends. She had had a twin brother before the weasels visited, and so was used to being a gruesome twosome. All of my siblings had been older, and my cousins came round very rarely, so I was glad of someone my own age to pal around with. We very soon became the terrors of the area, known far and wide for our mischievous deeds.

The third orphan, Jan, came about a season later. He was three seasons older than Patrice and I, and being a badger about twice the size, but we still got on fairly well. No beast knew what his life had been like before coming to live with us; he never talked about it. Eepee had met him while collecting nuts, and had offered him shelter for the night since he seemed to be alone. Again, Mitzi did not complain but just tried to make him comfortable. He confessed to having nowhere to live and was too young to be out on his own, so the mole brother and sister took him on permanently. However, Mitzi said he would be the last, she didn't want her home turned into a haven for poor orphans and vagabonds. "Ev'ry toime he goos out, he cooms back wiv anuvver mouth to feed!"

Arbara's fiancée came looking for me once, early on. He had heard the news of my family and come to offer me a place in his; "It's the least I can do for my almost-little-sister." I knew he was trying to be kind, but I felt the resentment in his voice, and knew he would always hate me for living when the one he loved was dead. I hid behind Mitzi's skirt and shook my head. He left quickly, taking with him a bottle of plum wine and an offer to come visit me whenever he wanted. He never came back.

After that my childhood was fairly normal, except that I had moles as parents and an otter and badger for siblings. But I was happy, and soon – almost – forgot my other family at all.

The nightmares came back from time to time to remind me.


	3. My Encounter pt1

**Chapter Three**

When I was eleven seasons old, and I had lived with the mole family longer than I had my actual parents, my life changed once again. This time however, the change was positive.

I had reached that stage where I couldn't seem to go for five minutes without having an argument with someone. No matter what I said or did, someone found offence in it and would take it personally. Equally, they only had to make a comment in the wrong tone of voice and I'd explode in their face. Patrice, Jan and I, normally such good friends seemed to constantly be angry with one another, or irritable or upset. Mitzi and Eepee had been half driven out of their minds by our fighting. Their once peaceful burrow had been transformed into a battleground as three young individuals tested the water of adulthood.

Usually, our arguments were short and insignificant, forgotten the instant a distraction or common view was found. Occasionally however, we had all-out wars, with shouting, slamming of doors and tears. After such fights, we all needed an outlet for our anger. Sometimes we took it out on an innocent party, which often made things worse. But more often then not, all three of us would storm out of the burrow and head in opposite directions. Patrice would go for a swim in the nearby estuary, using the cold water to cool her head and make her think clearly. Jan would march straight into the woods, raving and spouting out loud as if talking to somebeast, while really only the rocks were listening.

I would go for long runs along the shore, powerful hind legs churning the sand and waves beneath my paws while I ranted and fumed inside my head about the injustice of it all. As my thoughts calmed, I would slow my speed and by the time I was perfectly settled I would come to a full stop and sit down for a while to rest and think. The angrier I was, the farther I went, since I needed more time to release my frustration. When I was sufficiently calmed down, I would walk slowly back the way I had came, thinking about nothing in particular.

All three of us, Patrice, Jan and I, arrived back at home much more peacefully than we had left, and more repentant. We would say we were sorry, and that would be the end of the argument for a while. Usually, there was peace in the burrow for a few days afterward, until something started us up again.

I don't recall exactly what the fight was about that day, only that it ended in Jan committing a cardinal sin - calling me a weasel. For obvious reasons, ever since we were young it had been viewed as the penultimate insult. ("Bunny rabbit" and "long ears" rated high on the list for me, but nothing beat the W-word.) I had growled in rage and paraded out of the house, pausing only to aim a kick at the offending badger. His shout of pain echoed in my ears as I ran along the well-known path towards the sea.

The distance was small, and soon I was racing the waves. The tide crept up the beach to wet my footpaws but I hardly noticed as I belligerently splashed along. The noise of the sea, and my all-consuming anger meant that I didn't notice another beast approaching from the opposite direction.

WHAM! I remember feeling a force across my chest as though I had hit a solid brick wall. Two runners hitting each other directly face on at full speed and force is a very painful thing. As stars exploded in my head, I was thrown backwards into the sea.

I hit the crest of a wave as it came up onto the beach. The ice-cold salt water revived me, as well as filling my lungs and, for a few seconds, my world. I came up soaking wet and sputtering. "Sp…sp..putooie!" I spat the offending salt taste from my mouth as I choked and coughed for breath. I still had no idea what had caused the force that knocked me over.

A little distance away, I was suddenly vaguely aware of another beast doing much the same as I was. Then all awareness was thrust from me as another wave covered my head. This time I emerged with a clear head, and very clear idea to give whomever it was a piece of my mind.

But he spoke first. I found a tan paw thrust in my face and heard a cheery voice exclaiming, "I say, miss, I am **so **sorry! Let a chap help you up there, wot wot!"

"Yes, you can bally well help me up! You should know better than to ram a gel like that, eh, I could have been drowned!"


	4. My Encounter pt2

**Chapter Four**

His name was Lynum. Long story short, after apologising profusely for running into me, he built a fire so we could both dry off and also started rummaging about in his haversack for anything still edible after its dip in the sea. Food is a wonderful peace offering. I was soon laughing about the whole thing and chatting away as if I'd known him for years.

I told him a tailored version of my story, simply saying that my parents had died when I was young and the moles had adopted me. He seemed keen to meet Patrice and Jan, who I had totally forgiven by now, of course. I promised to introduce them if he came by the burrow sometime. Time passed. He told me he was a Salamandastron runner in training. His father had been a colonel and a lot of his family had been in the service. He talked of his sister, Saithe, who was a healer and his bold brother Captain Tammo. I found it all fascinating.

It seemed we would go on talking until the sun set, but we were interrupted when Lynum noticed a shadow heading up the beach towards us. "Oh no!" he exclaimed and hurriedly doused the fire. Running about madly, he tried to hide all signs of a camp.

I looked up and noticed the looming shape, undeniably aimed straight for us. "Trouble?" I asked.

"There will be if he sees me!" was his only reply as he grabbed my paw and dragged me into the dunes. We crouched down in a patch of long sratchgrass, not the best cover but with the waning light I hoped we'd be alright. Soon the shadow revealed itself to be another hare, the chest of his tunic glistening with medals.

I held my breath, still not fully aware why we were hiding and remembering another occasion when I had hidden in a similar manner. Beside me, Lymun was crouching as still as a stump. Suddenly, a powerful voice rang out over the clam. Down the beach, a flock of seagulls took to the air.

"Lynum, you lazy curmudgeon! You don't have to hide, I saw you a blinkin' mile away! Now show yourself, lad. Don't make me come find you!" Lynum twitched nervously, but did not stand up. There was a tiny smile on his face.

"LYNUM!" the strange hare bellowed, making both of us in the grass jump. Then there was a paw on the scruff of his neck and he was dragged forcefully out of hiding. I watched as Lynum cringed away from the older hare, scrambling backwards in the sand. Still, he retained the slight smile that I had noticed before.

"Colonel sah, my apologies sah! Ran into a spot of trouble, wot! Won't happen again sah!"

The formidable figure of his colonel twisted his mouth in disapproval. ""Won't happen again, sah!"" he mocked, "That's what you said last time, you miserable excuse for a recruit!" Abruptly, see seemed to soften. He sighed, shook his head and crouched down amicably next to his charge. His face cracked with a smile as he gave Lynum a despairing but amused look.

"Nah then, what was your "trouble" this time?" Lynum sat up grinning and pointed a paw in my direction. I sat in the tuft of grass, and knew there was no point in standing up since the colonel could see me anyways. "Her, sah" said Lynum.

The older hare's jaw dropped. "Well, blow me down with a feather! What's a pretty young gel like you doin' with old fur for brains over here?"

The insult had a playful ring to it, and I sensed the officer was Lynum's friend at heart. I liked him, and stood up with a slightly evil grin on my face. "Well, sah, he ran into me you see, and half drowned me." The soldier put a paw to his face to cover a chuckle. "So he was just helping me get dry again. It wasn't his fault," I added in case his mood changed "I wasn't looking where I was going."

The colonel only sighed, and cast a despondent look at Lynum, who was looking at his footpaws interestedly. He turned back to me. "And your name is?"

"Lupwa."


	5. My Salamandastron

**Chapter Five**

That was my first encounter with Salamandastron hares, and lead to my entry into the recruits programme a bit later on. Within four seasons I was fully trained and had done enough field work with the Long Patrol to become an Honourable Lieutenant. I was now living permanently in quarters at the mountain, but still saw Mitzi and Eepee from time to time since they lived close. Their household had changed dramatically in the course of four seasons, losing one load of orphans and gaining another. Shortly after my departure, Jan had taken to wandering, going further and further each day. Then, one day, the mole brother and sister came home to find all his things gone and a note saying that he wasn't going to be back for some time. No beast knew where he had gone or has heard from him since. I often wonder about him; where did he go, and indeed, where had come from in the first place?

Patrice left as well, to live with a group of rowdy otter friends on the riverbank nearby. Soon after she left the burrow, a squirrel mother came to visit the new otter tribe. She had a terrible accident while she was there and died, leaving behind a baby called Charlie. The young otters couldn't look after him, so Patrice sent him up to her "parent's" house, knowing that they were a bit lonely now and that he'd be well looked after. Charlie was followed by Lilly, a white mouse maid who was mysteriously left on the doorstep of the burrow. Three seasons old and as pretty as a robin, the siblings could not turn her away. So they had plenty to keep them occupied, and still visited Patrice and I when the other two weren't monopolising their time.

I settled into life at Salamandastron quickly. Being used to change, the move simply meant a new adventure and new friends to be made. And I had many.

There was Lynum, of course, and old Colonel Beven. They were in the ranks above me for a time, but we still saw a lot of each other, and then more so when I was promoted. I also befriended Lynum's healer sister Saithe, and her trainer, the accomplished and revered Pasque Valerian. The badger lord, Russano, and I also became friendly; we had both been orphans and so shared a common ground that made friendship easier. His wife and children got used to seeing me chatting to him and often stopped by to talk themselves.

My best friends, however, were called Heidi and Arnica. Heidi, or Corporal Heidi Nutmeg Annabelle Tussockfur to give her full name, had joined the recruits the same day I had. Her main area of talent – mine was running and marksmanship – was camouflage. Indeed, the first time I met her, I had to strain my eyes to even decipher where she was. Her coat was patchy and so allowed her to blend into almost any background, dirt, sand, rock, it all seemed to swallow her up and turn her invisible. She carried a green suit to help her blend in with grass and vegetation, a black one for night missions, blue for water and white for snow. Being her close friend, one learned how to spot her, but it was still hard on the eyes after a while and we all wished that her "powers" could be turned off sometimes. It all came naturally to her, and she was trained to enhance her sneakiness by travelling almost silently and learning how to move without giving away where she was. Heidi was a card, much given to practical jokes and laughs. Everyone loved her.

Arnica was far more serious and quiet, but just as wonderful. Harder to get to know, but well worth the effort, for once she let you in she became the best friend anyone could ask for. She was one of Saithe's partners in the infirmary, training to be a healer. Gentle and benevolent, she could take any injury, no matter how big or small and make it disappear almost overnight. Cuts that would have left huge scars otherwise vanished to tiny scratches under her paws and with seemingly little effort. She also knew the properties of every herb and medicine off by heart, and often saved us nasty colds and headaches with her knowledge of preventative medicine. "Instead of pulling people out of the stream, you should travel round the corner and see what's causing them to fall in," she was fond of saying, and it was true. Arnica was as wise as she was kind and we loved her for it.

So there we were, three of a kind, Heidi loud, wacky and boisterous, Arnica shy, gentle and wise…and me, Honourable Lieutenant Lupwa, the orphan with an interesting life story. While we were just doing routine exercises and the odd bit of spat fighting with shore toads, life was great.

Then, once again, something changed the good life, and this time, I knew the face of the enemy.


	6. My Nightmare

**Chapter Six**

"All I am saying is that we've been here four seasons now, and we still haven't seen any real action! I'm tired of patrolling up and down for no reason, back and forth, here and there…the monotony is killing me!"

Heidi, Arnica and I sighed; we'd heard this rant of Lynum's before. The hall where the leverets and officers took their meals was full of hungry hares breaking their fast. Lynum and I were gearing up to go on another costal patrol duty.

"I mean-"Lynum continued, waving an oatmeal laden bowl around. Beside him, Heidi started to mimic his actions over-comically, dodging splats of oatmeal as she did so. Arnica and I tried to hide our giggles as she gestured and made funny faces. Lynum seemed not to notice. This state of affairs continued for some time.

"If I had wanted to be doing the same chores over and over and over again, I'd have stayed at home on the farm, wot!" Lynum turned round as he finished and vented his wrath on Heidi, who had finished her version of his speech in a shrill squeal that had Arnica and I in stitches. "And as for you, I dunno why you're so darn cheerful, but knock it off."

The moody male decked her on the head, and then hunched down over his meal. Heidi rubbed her head ruefully and adopted a pained expression. The sight of the two of them made it hard to resist laughing, and as a result Lynum stood up and walked off in a huff. Heidi consoled herself by grabbing what little food he had left untouched and disposing of it for him.

Sobered by his departure, Arnica turned serious. "What's been eating him lately?"

"I dunno," I replied, even though I did. He'd been complaining of it only moments ago. It _had_ been a dull summer, with only a few small insignificant skirmishes to break up the repetitive training and patrols. Young and wild, we needed something to do. War seemed a strange thing to wish for, but I found myself doing just that.

Another few weeks went by without an event. Lynum forgave us, but remained edgy and argumentative. The heat of midsummer began to be felt on the mountain, making the very air hot and stuffy.

Everyday was like a day before a storm, but with no relief at night. Not just the weather – we all felt it, something like a tension in the air. Nothing told us so officially, but deep down we all felt that something, someone, was coming. But, like the ominous rain clouds that never appeared, our suspicions were dry.

Then, one night for the first time in many seasons, I had a nightmare.

It was them – the weasels. They entered my dormitory and killed my family. They walked a while to a river front and killed a tribe of otters, leaving behind two bodies; a maid with slashed shoulders clinging unconscious to her twin, who had saved her life by drowning. They were at the very foot of the mountain, the very edge of Mossflower, the very gates of Redwall Abbey itself. No one could stop them…there was Martin, sword in hand, being knocked down by a red-faced rodent. There was a strange mouse with a knotted rope, a young novice with the shield of Martin, bold brave hares…squirrels and otters too and every other kind of creature – each and every one defeated by vermin that smelt of leaf rot and had juice stained paws.

One of these paws reached down and pulled a young spunky haremaid from a bush by the scruff of her clothes. She escaped by literally falling out of her dress into the salty water below.

And now I'm in the ocean, being tossed and turned about by the waves. The Strawberry Eater is leering down at me from the prow of his great ship. I am powerless. The wind picks up, bringing with it mad waves, and from the crashing turmoil floats a wooden spoon. I clutch the thing, and hear within me a voice I never thought I'd hear again…

_Round and round the strawberry bush,_

_My Lupwa chased the weasel;_

_Round and round the strawberry bush,_

_'Til…_

My grandfather, echoing the tune of the paw clapping game he taught me in my youth and innocence. Suddenly, the wooden spoon is a boat, and I am floating in it, and I can almost reach the railing on the weasel's vessel, and my fingers grasp at the edge, and thunder rolls and lighting rents the air and when it clears it is simply me alone in my bed, clutching at dreams.

I lay awake for a long time, listening to the long awaited rain run down the mountain side. I knew without getting up to check that there was a thunderstorm and fierce wind, and that the seas would be rough.

I recalled similar summer storms with the mole siblings; we used to go and sit in the burrow doorway and watch the elements battle from the safety of the snug house. I hoped fervently that they were not doing so now with Lilly and Charlie. If they were, they would be able to see the tiniest expanse of ocean, and the tips of the sails that I knew without needing to look were creeping over the horizon.

Bearing the Strawberry Eater closer.


End file.
